


Royal Flush

by ThisisVenereVeritas



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alcohol, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisVenereVeritas/pseuds/ThisisVenereVeritas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young marine finds himself being pursued by the recently appointed Shichibukai. After a few drinks, the idea doesn't seem so crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madame Baroquedile (WhimsicalRealist)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalRealist/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Роял-флэш](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956131) by [akino_ame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akino_ame/pseuds/akino_ame), [Rin_ne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rin_ne/pseuds/Rin_ne)



Several weeks spent in the middle of the ocean left Rocinante excited to spot dry land. He nearly yelled out the words “land ho!” when he noticed the tip of greenery through the lens of the telescope. Luckily the ship was wet with morning air, causing him to slip and smack his head against the railing, and to drop from the crow’s nest and land roughly on the deck, saving him from making any surprise remarks. His fall caught the attention of his brother's crew, and after plugging up his bloody nose Rocinante learned Doflamingo would be casting anchor at the island.

"You all have twelve hours before I have us cast off," his older brother warned, resting a pointing finger a full solid second on the children. "During that time I expect everyone to represent my name in the best manner possible, understood?"

Rocinante stood behind Doflamingo, along with the rest of the scum that made up the special executive force. He pretended to listen to his brother's speech to the younger members of the crew, watching silently as Doflamingo handed the three some allowance, providing Law and Buffalo the additional weapon to wreak decent injury on anyone who dared to bother them. After giving the sick boy a light pat on the shoulder, sending the kids off to be miserable little delinquents, Doflamingo faced Rocinante and the rest of his executives.

"Gentlemen." Doflamingo clapped his hands together. "I'm going to have to ask a small favor of you." Rocinante detected a slight groan above him, from either Trebol or Diamante. "I know, I know," Doflamingo muttered, waving a hand upwards, "This is supposed to be a holiday, but here me out, will you?"

"Right," Diamante muttered.

"What is it, Doffy?" Pica squeaked.

"I had a conversation with Crocodile," Doflamingo replied, biting the edge of his bottom lip. "A few days ago. He mentioned being on an island surrounded by mountains...well, guess where we are now?" Rocinante watched as his brother lowered his shades, exposing weakened, hazed filled eyes. "I was hoping I'd get a word out of him, face-to-face."

"Gee, I don't know, Doffy," Trebol muttered. "It's been almost a year since our crews have rendezvoused. You think a meet up is a good idea?"

"The guy's a Shichibukai now, ain't he" Diamante asked. "Messed with Whitebeard a few times. You sure you wanna bother him, now that's he's got that ranking?"

Doflamingo broke into frantic laughter. Rocinante shivered, nearly dropping his cigarette at the dreadful sound. "That rank's nothing more than a fancy word," his brother said, grabbing a tuft of feathers from his coat. He stroked a few, his face turning a light shade that nearly matched his extravagant wear. "Besides, him being a Shichibukai might prove beneficial..."

All three executives chuckled. Doflamingo was referring to his grand scheme to dismantle an entire country. Despicable. Grateful to have his shades covering the dread in his eyes, Rocinante remained hunched over, only letting a drag from his cigarette perform his response.

"Corazon," Doflamingo announced. Rocinante raised a brow, taking his cigarette from his decorated lips and pinching the butt tight between his fingers while trying to appear as though this task was the most interesting thing to be bestowed upon him. "I know you've never met the man before," Doflamingo continued, smiling, looking almost like a child as he went on in his talk about the pirate lord, "Let me give you an idea of whom you’ll be looking for.”

Rocinante lifted his head up, feigning to listen to his brother. Of course he already knew who Crocodile was. Although he never met the pirate, Sengoku had assigned a team to keep track of his crew, including their transgressions against the Yonko. And being a marine commander, Rocinante was close to the team's recordings. He was aware of the damage the younger pirate retained after this battle with Whitebeard. Although he was undercover, Sengoku took the time to alert Rocinante of the government's decision to advance Crocodile's candidacy to Shichibukai weeks ago.

"If you spot him, I would advise you have everything written out before approaching him." Doflamingo rested a hand on Rocinante's shoulder, effectively bringing him out of his train of thought. "Crocodile is not a man who'd appreciate your...style of communication. If you catch his attention through physical contact, be prepared to get your message out right away, understood?"

Rocinante smiled at his brother, until the he felt the burning sting of his cigarette, now used up, singe his fingers. He dropped the butt and began to wipe his fingers against his feather cape, then brought his blistered index up to his mouth, hoping the saliva would soothe the pain.

Doflamingo sighed, while the rest of the executives broke into laughter.

"Right," his brother muttered. "Well, keep an eye out for Crocodile. If any of you catch him on this island, let him know I'll be at my quarters around five in the afternoon."

"And if he refuses your invitation?" Diamante asked.

"Fufufu." Doflamingo looked over in the direction of the town. "He can't say no to any of my requests." There was no guarantee that Crocodile would be around, yet Rocinante could tell by the way his brother stared out that the very idea of Crocodile being on this island provided Doflamingo a means of distraction from everything else that tarnished his views of the world.

Rocinante kept his brother’s stare in mind when he made his way out of the port, left the dock area and entered the town, managing only to make a fool of himself by slipping, bumping, or stepping into something four times.

It was a nice, peaceful little autumn town, situated close to a few mountains. Yellowing leaves were falling, the weather was cool, and the sky cloudy. The air carried a heavy, damp taste that left the blond feeling warm and relaxed. He caught site of several members of his brother's crew running around, not acting too disorderly. Rocinante traveled further into the town, waiting until he was sure no one he recognized was around to bother him.

He found himself a small alleyway, and pulled out his small den den mushi, ready to inform Sengoku of what little progress he made since their last call.

It took only a few seconds of waiting before Sengoku picked up. "Are you safe?"

Rocinante smirked at the worried look produced by the tiny snail resting in his hands. "Afraid I got caught?"

"It's been a while since you reported back to me."

"Forgive me," Rocinante replied. "I've been stuck on board for the last several weeks, and privacy is difficult to maintain when you're an executive. I'll send you my current coordinates, and perhaps Tsuru's team might be able to catch up."

"Have you anything to report?"

"Not much." Rocinante looked around the alleyway, the upwards at the cloudy sky. "My brother is trying to come into contact with Sir Crocodile, the recently appointed Shichibukai. He thinks Crocodile might be on this island...No idea what he could want though."

"Hmmm," the tiny snail murmured. Rocinante watched it anxiously shake its head. "There was a meeting he was required to attend to. It wouldn't be beyond reason to think he might be close by. Both Crocodile and your brother have caused enough problems. Should the man be on the island, see to it that no contact is to be made, do you hear?"

"Loud and clear," he answered.

A drop of water smacked the tip of Rocinante’s nose, causing him to break away from the conversation. He stared upwards at the sky, lifting his shades to analyze the changing weather, only to have both eyes pelted with raindrops. The blond dropped the den den mushi, covering and rubbing his eyes.

"What is it?" Sengoku asked.

Rocinante picked up the wet snail. "Rain," he answered. "I'll get back to you later. I don't want to risk getting drenched. I'll send you my location once I get back–"

"Never mind that," he heard the snail reply. "You just get inside and keep warm. Make sure your brother stays out of trouble, and keep an eye out for Crocodile, should he be around."

"But Tsuru..."

"That's an order," the snail demanded before clicking off. Rocinante's shoulder sank as he stared at the resting snail, but felt a slight smile grow and spread across his moist face as he stowed it away into his black coat. With the snap of his fingers, the invisible barrier around him vanished, and the sound of rain could be heard all over.

* * *

 

Rocinante tripped his way into the pub, slipping the moment his heel made contact with the wooden floor. He landed flat on his face, earning a room full of laughter from citizens and travelers. If there was any anxiety arisen from his entrance, his clumsy show had completely dissipated it.

The young man took his seat and waited for the jeering to die down before ordering himself something to drink. While waiting, Rocinante fixed his beanie back into place, and reclined in his seat, listening to the sounds of gossip taking place around him. With his powers, he was able to concentrate on each particular conversation, jumping from one to the next, muting whatever didn't sound beneficial, and focus on anything that arose the slightest bit of suspicion.

"There's another group of pirates here..."

A waitress placed a drink in front of him. Rocinante passed her a few coins, along with a cheery smile, before returning to his careful eavesdropping.

"Bad enough we got that other ship on the south, now this flamingo ship's blocking the north side..."

Rocinante took a swig of his drink. What sort of pirates was his brother's crew sharing space with? Another sip. He wondered if this was something worth alerting to his brother? The Donquixote pirates knew better than to cause trouble when their captain didn't want it, but it mattered little if they were dealing with another group of pirates, especially if that crew was competitive and willing to start a fight.

Rocinante licked his lips, longing for the taste of tobacco, desiring the fulfillment of nicotine. He brought out his packet of cigarettes, smacking the end of the small container out of habit before opening it and plucking one. He brought it to his mouth and began searching through his pockets for a lighter.

The door swung open. Rocinante lowered his shades and spotted a dark figure making their way into the pub. The marine nearly dropped the cigarette resting between his lips when the man standing at the entrance lifted his head up, bringing his only hand to wipe away a few soaked strands of hair from his scarred face. Rocinante recognized the man right away,

"Shit," he silently mouthed. His cigarette fell from his lips, and Rocinante fumbled in his seat, grabbing it before it hit the ground. His devil fruit power faltered, and was welcomed with the sounds of just about everyone in the pub whispering to one another.

"Is that..."

"A pirate if I've ever seen one..."

Rocinante huddled up as he picked up his glass, trying to appear as though the presence of the newly appointed Shichibukai didn't bother him, hoping that his falsified demeanor would be contagious enough to stop people from staring at the irritated looking man.

"Look at that scar."

He brought the glass to his lips. No, wait, he still needed to light his cigarette.

"Sir Crocodile..."

"He fought Whitebeard..."

Rocinante needed to light his cigarette, look natural, keep warm, and somehow make sure that Crocodile didn't get anywhere near his brother...

"Oi, you!" A man stood up from his seat and pointed a finger at Crocodile.

Rocinante froze in his seat as he watched the Shichibukai very slowly turn his head and stare very tiredly at the civilian. He bit down on his cigarette when the man showed no signs of backing down, growing more fierce looking once he caught sight of Crocodile's disinterested response.

"You're not welcome here," the man started. "You, and yer damn crew!"

"No, no," Rocinante mouthed, shaking his head. He stared at Crocodile, who continued to eye the man dismissively, not quite inspired to lift his giant hook and use it against the villager.

"You think you can pillage sovereign Whitebeard territory, and then use your special pirate privileges to do whatever the fuck you want, eh?"

Rocinante pushed his chair back when he saw Crocodile smirk at the man. He nearly fell out of it when Crocodile took a step over to the man's table.

"Y-you need to leave," said man stuttered, lowering his finger when the pirate took another step. "We've heard of the trouble you caused...and...and we don't want any of–"

The marine side took over the moment he witnessed Crocodile lifting his hand up. Rocinante jumped out of his seat and rushed over to the table where the man and his companion stood, about to be...well, he didn't know what the pirate was capable of, but Rocinante didn't want to give Crocodile the opportunity to let him find out. His hand reached out, ready to stop the dangerous pirate, when suddenly he slipped forward. He hit the table, sending all the contents: silverware, drinks and food, flying. Rocinante crashed into the ground, expecting it all to land on him, but after moving the tassels of his beanie from his face, saw that everything spilled over the man and his friend, covering them in a mess of half eaten meals.

Rocinante cringed, already prepared to back away from the scene. He grabbed his shades and his fallen cigarette, hastily placing them back in their proper place (though by now the cigarette was worn and chewed up at the butt), before looking back up at the two furious men, and attempting an innocent, overly cheerful smile.

Neither took it well.

“You little shit,” the man groaned, wiping mash off his shoulders. “You fucking retarded or something?”

He and his companion began to maneuver around the broken table and mess, their anger now directed at Rocinante. The blond scuffled back, not sure what to do without causing an even bigger scene, when his vision caught a quick blur of gold. He flinched, closing his eyes, while catching the sounds of gasps and yelps.

“Please, Sir Crocodile!”

Rocinante reopened his eyes. The two men were now on the ground, one of them grabbing on to his stomach, the other groaning and staring up at the cloaked Shichibukai standing before him. The blond blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the scene before him. He then caught the heavy scent of iron, and noticed a deep red gathering around one of the fallen men’s stomach. He raised his view up to the tip of Crocodile’s hook dripping with some blood.

“Please,” a woman said, “let them be! They’ve learned their lesson.”

“This fool had no problem being the center of attention before,” Crocodile growled out. He turned to the gathering crowd of frightened villagers, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his face.

Rocinante looked back to the man holding himself, and at the deep red stain that was beginning to engulf his top. With the arms covering the wound the marine couldn’t assess the damage.

“Please,” someone in the crowd begged. “Let them go.”

Crocodile shrugged. “Why should I?” he asked. “This fool had no problem spouting nonsense…he’s lucky I decided to expend my frustrations on him and his friend, rather than the entire town.”

“Sir Crocodile?” A woman at the counter called out. Rocinante turned, watching in silence as she approached the angered pirate. “If you let these men live, I’ll assure you the best service I can offer. And it’ll all be on the house, of course.”

The pirate fixed his coat back into place. “I never intended on paying in the first place.”

“We’ll offer you free supplies for your journey,” she hastily added.

By now the entire pub gathered around the crowded scene. Rocinante considered offering up a suggestion of his own, but remembered that he carried little power compared to a government-hired pirate.

Crocodile sighed through his nose. “What a bother,” he muttered. He faced the two men lying on the ground, letting out another disappointed sigh before continuing; “you’re incredibly lucky I’ve better things to do than waste my efforts killing you two.” He lifted his hook up and stared at the few droplets of blood that remained at the edge. “I’m in need of a washcloth,” he muttered.

“Right away, Sir Crocodile,” a frightened waitress replied, hurrying off to the back of the pub.

The pirate let his only hand run through his hair, his severe expression ceasing, replaced with a look of exhaustion. With a third and final sigh, he took a step away from the two wailing men, allowing villagers to run up and collect them.

Rocinante nervously watched the two men being escorted out of the pub when Crocodile walked in front of his view. The blond looked up, pulling in his bottom lip while listening to a few people make guesses and bets over what the pirate might do to him.

“Boy,” the pirate murmured, eyes lighting up when Rocinante fidgeted. Did Crocodile intend to make an example out of him? Did he get food or something on the clothes? The cloak looked nice. Nothing wet or sticky there.

Rocinante sniffed, managing only a weak nod.

“Ah?” Crocodile muttered. ”Is that all?” He took another step closer to Rocinante, earning several gasps from the crowd. The blond remained situated on the floor; lips shut tight, eyes not breaking away from Crocodile’s, not even when the man knelt down in front of him.

He couldn’t possibly look away. He’d been told to never break eye contact with a pirate, should the worse happen. Rocinante was a mess, covered in rainwater, his feathery coat looking wilted and wrinkled, clothes damp and tight. His beanie was probably on crooked, and since he was sucking on his bottom lip, odds were his makeup was smeared. But he refused to turn his head or close his eyes. He watched Crocodile’s hand disappear into his coat. Rocinante swallowed, wondering if he might use a gun on him.

“What’s your name?” the pirate asked him.

Rocinante wondered if he might have accidently used his powers, because the entire pub went silent. But he sniffed, and heard it so, and realized this wasn’t the case, and that he might as well answer and get this over with.

“Rocinante,” he answered, voiced filled with confidence.

He watched a grin spread across the pirate’s face. “Rocinante, eh?” the man remarked, cackling at the end.

Crocodile’s hand reappeared, and Rocinante caught the glimpse of something gold in his grasp. Fingers spread, and the blond saw that it was a lighter. The pirate lord brought his lighter up to blond’s lips, to the near ruined cigarette barely hanging on, and lifted the top off with his thumb. The marine remained silently poised, eyes opening wide as he watched Crocodile ignite a small flame from the device, lighting up the end of Rocinante’s cigarette with it.

“Interesting name,” he heard the pirate remark.

Rocinante looked down at the burning end of his cigarette, not believing what he just heard. But he inhaled a quick breath through the filter and tasted the warm smoke filling his mouth and running down his throat.

Crocodile stood up, stowing his lighter back into his coat before lifting his left arm up, letting his hook get caught into a wet cloth, to be cleaned by one of the waiting staff. Rocinante blinked, not moving from his spot, continuing to make small inhalations, just in case the last one he made was not real, but a result of him going mad. But each and every time he tasted the strong tobacco fumes rest against his tongue, and with the following exhale he could feel his face tickle with warmth: a combination of confusion, fear, shame, and perhaps even some flattery.

When the waitress finished cleaning up the tip of his hook, Crocodile lowered his arm, and then bared another intense grin at the quiet marine. “It suits you just fine,” the man continued, walking past Rocinante. The blond listened to the continued sounds of people moving aside, sighs of relief, and a few comments regarding how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Yes,” he heard Crocodile say loud enough for everyone to hear, his announcement enough to silence everyone in the pub once more. “I suppose a man of your style would possess such a name. It’s incredibly fitting, and combined with your sense of dress, I’d go as far as to call it …Quixotic.”

Rocinante’s jaw dropped at the sound of the word. He listened as Crocodile let out a slow laugh, making his way further into the pub, finding himself a seat, while the poor blond remained dumfounded, almost flustered at the comment he received. He tried to think of something to say, a sort of comeback, but he caught a whiff of something burning, and when he looked down he realized he’d dropped his lit cigarette, and now his black feather coat was lighting up in flames.


	2. Chapter 2

Rocinante lifted his eyes, catching a glimpse of Sir Crocodile resting by the fire, drying himself off while reading today’s paper. Just as the older man turned his head, the blond lowered his stare, pretending to look down at his second glass, waiting for the Shichibukai to finishing surveying the area before he went back to staring.

The marine was in quite the conundrum. Right now Crocodile was occupying the same space his brother was. Doflamingo ordered him and the executives to keep a lookout for Crocodile, and while Rocinante was confident that the others were out making merry with some prostitutes, or gambling money away, there was always that risk that his brother or someone else in the crew might come across the Shichibukai.

What made matters worse was him giving away his name to Crocodile. In any other situation, this wouldn’t have been so bad but he was playing the role of an assumed mute, and his brother couldn’t know that he was capable of speech. If Doflamingo and Crocodile crossed paths, there was that slight chance he’d be mentioned, what with him being brother to the captain. And as far as Crocodile knew, Rocinante could talk.

It was clear he would need to take extreme measures in order to keep Crocodile away from his brother. Sengoku gave the orders to keep the two parted, but now the marine had his incentive.

Rocinante pushed his sunglasses up, slightly tilting his head and giving Crocodile another glance. Right now he was lucky the man didn’t want anything to do with the miserable weather. The rain was keeping the Shichibukai inside, but Rocinante doubted the weather would proceed to be cold and wet for ten more hours.

Crocodile leaned back, looking over the paper he was reading, directly at Rocinante. The blond snapped his head back down, grabbing his drink and taking a rather large swig in order to deter the pirate from any suspicion.

How was he going to distract Crocodile?

Rocinante sank into his seat, his spread legs kicking the legs of his table, causing it to wobble, and him to stumble forward, grabbing it and stopping himself from making another scene.

“Excuse me?” A soft voice whispered.

He looked at the waitress standing by him. She looked incredibly nervous, as though she were still recovering from cleaning Crocodile’s hook. The marine watched as she placed a glass of something dark in front of him, her face turning red as she pulled away, avoiding eye contact with Rocinante.

“Sir Crocodile ordered this for you.”

Rocinante stared at the glass offered to him, not saying a word as the waitress walked off, only giving a glance over when he picked it up and brought it to eye level. He stared at the dark liquid, detecting the scent of something strong, and knew right away that this drink given to him wasn’t some random act of kindness. Pirates always carried ulterior motives. He placed the glass down and cupped his hands together, letting his natural distrust of criminals show on his face as he rested back into his seat.

Did Crocodile see something in him that he didn’t? Rocinante could imagine that his choice of dress might suggest a certain amount of delinquency to his behavior; he didn’t think he possessed the usual manner of a pirate. Even if he did, it didn’t explain the free drink. Sure, he caused food to spill over those men. Rocinante could see how someone might misinterpret his mistake as purposeful action, but a man like Sir Crocodile?

And then there was Crocodile lighting up his cigarette. It was the sort of favor that Rocinante never cared to think too much about in the past. He’d experienced his fair amount of strangers asking for a light. But Sir Crocodile had no reason to kneel on the unkempt floor of a bar, look Rocinante in the eyes, and speak to him, asking him questions, making further comments, and laughing at him while offering him a light.

“What’s your game?”

The sound of Crocodile’s low voice right behind him caused Rocinante to jump in his seat. He stopped the table from shaking too much, saving his glass from spilling its contents all over the place. He looked over his shoulder and spotted the Shichibukai pulling a cigar from his coat, gold eyes resting on him.

“Excuse me?” Rocinante asked. He frowned. No, it didn’t really matter so much that he was talking again now, did it? Crocodile wasn’t about to forget that minor detail.

“Don’t play dumb,” the pirate replied, bringing the cigar to his lips. “You’ve been watching me.” He fished through the pocket of his coat and took his lighter from it. “You made a point to make sure I caught you each and every time.”

Rocinante expected Crocodile to be offended. The pirate continued to stare at him, eyes filling with something heavy and hazed. But it wasn’t the usual dark look the marine was accustomed to seeing in a pirate.

Crocodile smirked. “And those ridiculous attempts cover up your tracks with hasty movements. A tad juvenile, don’t you think? A man your age is better off making his intentions clear.”

So Crocodile was aware he was being watched? Worse, he though the marine’s attempt to not look conspicuous was done on purpose? Rocinante thought he was decent when it came to detective work, but the pirate’s remark seemed to be proving him wrong. Then again, Crocodile didn’t suspect Rocinante to be an undercover marine. No, the older man thought he was being a terrible flirt.

There was a bright side to this: Crocodile was speaking to him. Considering Rocinante just finished asking himself how he was supposed to keep the pirate far from his brother, this start of a conversation over a drink could prove to be a fine distraction. All Rocinante needed to do was play into the pirate’s hand. Crocodile thought he was flirting with him…well, the marine pretended to be a pirate; a not so secret admirer shouldn’t be too hard.

Rocinante rested his shoulder, letting his fingers wrap around the base of his glass, but not quite ready to grab it. He saw the way Crocodile watched his movements, and understood what to do in order to keep the pirate around.

The blond glanced over at his drink, showing off a look of disinterest. “Yes, well,” he began, “what were the odds of me coming up successful? A guy like me, going up to a pirate like you? I mean, _come on_?”

“And now you’re rejecting my offering to you?” A giant hook gestured at the neglected glass. This time Rocinante could detect a tinge of annoyance in the man’s voice.

He quickly thought up his response. “It got you over here, didn’t it?” He plastered on a confident smile, lifting a hand up and pointing it at the remaining chair occupying his table.

The marine never played the “hard to get” card before. Most of the time he was obvious with his intentions, letting girls know right away he liked them back. Rocinante never had a pirate pursue him before, and he wasn’t sure he was going about this the right way.

Crocodile shifted the cigar to the side of his mouth, watching Rocinante’s hand slowly lower back down to the table. He leered at the chair. “I don’t like being lead on.”

Rocinante waited for the fumes released from Crocodile’s mouth to die down before grabbed his shades, pulling them down, and responding: “Well, are you going to do something about it then?”

Crocodile’s eyes lit up. Rocinante watched the cigar tip downward, Crocodile’s jaw lowering, not quite prepared for such a haughty comeback. Heck, Rocinante was surprised to hear the words come out of his own mouth. But he said them, and he couldn’t take it back, not that he would if he could. Crocodile’s severe expression was diminishing, and Rocinante could spot the pirate’s exposed incisors as a grin appeared, finding Rocinante’s defiant attitude…attractive? The marine doubted that. Crocodile viewed him as a challenge, something he wanted to overcome and accomplish, and Rocinante was sure he could handle that for a few hours, at least until the Shichibukai grew bored of this island and left to his next series of criminal activity.

“You going to take the seat?” Rocinante asked, lifting his shades back up and covering his eyes from the older man.

“My, my.” Crocodile circled around the table, Rocinante, smirk growing as he took his cigar, giving it a flick and letting some ash fall. He stopped in front of the chair and with the use of his leg, pulled it out. “Such confidence. You weren’t showing any of that before.”

Rocinante grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

The Shichibukai took his seat. Rocinante kept his grin. He took his glass and brought it to his lips, catching the pirate shifting in his seat. It was a strange sight to behold. The pirate that fought against Whitebeard was now throwing aggressive glances at him, hand rubbing against the golden curve of the hook, mouth slightly parted and taking in eager breaths. He had the pirate right where he wanted him. All he needed to figure out was a way to get Crocodile back in his ship and off this island before his brother or anyone else–

“…An interesting coat you have on you.”

Rocinante nearly spat out his first gulp when Crocodile calmly announced those cruel words. He covered his mouth just in time, stopping himself from rudely coughing up the drink that the pirate ordered for him. Except now he was choking. Rocinante’s face burned hot as the alcohol settled in his mouth and throat. He blinked a few times, watching Crocodile stare and wait for an audible response from him. A smile formed on the pirate’s face. No, a smirk. Worse than before. With his elbows on the table, head lowered, eyes on the marine, and that evil grin showing off all sorts of intentions, Rocinante figured that him nearly spitting out his drink was the least of his problems.

He gulped down ale and coughed out his reply: “My coat?”

Sir Crocodile rolled his cigar between his index and thumb. “Yes,” he replied, shrugging and no longer possessing that predatory gaze from before. “It’s nice. Feathers.”

“You like feather coats?”

The pirate shrugged. “I’m fond of them. They’re not my style. I’d never wear feathers in public myself, but I do find the appeal.”

The marine would never have guessed that Crocodile might enjoy the sight of fluttery, light feathers. But then he couldn’t imagine any sort of relationship between Crocodile and his brother, and it did seem that Doflamingo knew the man.

“Thanks,” the blond said. “The coat, I mean. Thanks for liking it. Err, I mean, well…”

Several weeks keeping of his mouth shut, and now Rocinante was struggling to keep a conversation with another person. And it would be another ten hours before he left it. Rocinante placed his glass down and brought his hand up to his mouth, once again feeling the heat of embarrassment, now being fueled with his first glass and soon to be second.

“…thanks for the drink,” he finally said. He watched the way Crocodile gave a slight, half-hearted nod with his head, somehow looking bored and tired of everything, while also appearing amused by the his attempts to keep his interest. Rocinante supposed the pirate was figuring him out. Yes, Crocodile was probably scolding himself for letting this fool trick him into thinking he was a tease.

But then Rocinante heard the metallic sound of the man’s rings hitting his hook.

“Rocinante?” Crocodile muttered, hand continuing to slide across the hook. Rocinante shuddered at the combined sound of his name and those rings clicking against the metal. “Where are you from?”

The rather personal question came as a surprise to Rocinante. He grabbed his drink and took another sip, the few added seconds giving him the adequate amount of time to calm down and think up an answer. “The North Blue.”

“You’re not too far from home then.” Crocodile lifted his hand from the hook. He took his cigar and gave it another light shake, letting more ash fall to the floor. “Whereabouts?”

“Oh, nothing special.” The marine took another sip. His head was beginning to feel warm. His stomach was heavy with liquid, lighting him up and making it hard to tell if he was blushing because this conversation felt awkward and impossible to conceive, or because he didn’t eat enough today and this stuff he was drinking was probably from the East Blue. It tasted like it might be from the East Blue. It was strong. Rocinante sniffed. “Just another small town.”

Crocodile reclined into his seat. Rocinante caught the man glancing over at the window, trying to determine whether things outside improved through a foggy, unclean pane. “Have you come across pirates in your travels?”

Rocinante was sure the surrounding area was starting to heat up. A majority of the customers fled the pub shortly after Crocodile stabbed one of the villagers, but things were getting unbearably stuffy, and Rocinante wanted to rip his beanie off and toss it aside. He wanted to take off his feather coat, but he couldn’t because Crocodile liked it, and he wasn’t sure how the man might react to him removing it, not after that compliment.

Maybe he was a little drunk. “A few,” Rocinante answered, his eyes now measuring the amount of ale he’d consumed since Crocodile took his seat. How much more could he handle? Perhaps he ought to consider pacing himself? Oh, what would Sengoku do at a time like this?

“I take it you’ve never dealt with the quarrels that come when you interact with pirates?”

That was a lot of words that the marine didn’t quite understand. Rocinante brought his hand up, letting it settle underneath his beanie so that he could run fingers through his hair, and allow some cool air to run through. He was hot, and Crocodile’s questions sounded more like some interview, and Rocinante was never good at those.

His fingers rubbed against the side of his head “Well, no,” he admitted. “I didn’t have to worry too much about those. You see–”

“–Finish your drink.” It was a gentle command, supplied by a few tender curls of the fingers gesturing towards that half finished glass.

“Ok.” Rocinante picked up his glass and followed his given orders without a thought.

The door to the pub opened. Crocodile turned and stared at the small collection of people entering, the door remaining ajar as they passed through. Rocinante was sure he caught a smile on the older man’s face.

“What were you about to say?” he heard Crocodile ask.

Rocinante blinked, temporarily activating his powers, turning off the sound of the people chatting, walking, ordering their food and drink, and on the opened door, and the sounds outside. The rain was dying down.

“Marines usually keep things in control,” Rocinante said. He sounded a little too cautious. He needed to calm back down before Crocodile noticed. More than he already did. How was he going to keep Crocodile around once the weather improved?

“Are you a marine?”

Rocinante stared at his drink. “No,” he lied.

A long trail of smoke blew across the table. “Look at me when you answer, Rocinante.”

The blond raised his head up.

Crocodile pointed a finger at him. “Shades.”

Rocinante removed his sunglasses, exposing himself to the older man. Without the shades, Rocinante could feel cool air pool around his eyes. The sensation lasted only a few seconds, but it alerted him just how warm he’d become. How much of that was the alcohol, and not a result of Crocodile casually ordering him around, dry smile growing wide each time Rocinante complied?

“Tell me; are you a marine?”

He remembered a technique where the person being interrogated was supposed to look not quite directly in the interrogator’s eyes. Rocinante rested his eyes on the uppermost button on Crocodile’s shirt. It was a very nice button. Too nice for a criminal. His vision blurred and he looked upwards, eyes now on the ascot. Very nice ascot. The color was…nice. Everything was nice. Crocodile looked nice.

Rocinante grinned. “Nah, I’m not a marine,” he said, chuckling out every other word. “I’m just...traveling. I’m not alone, if that’s what you’re trying to in-sin-u-ate.” He spread himself out, both hands waving to Crocodile. “I’m doing my own thing. I’m working hard though. I’m…” Rocinante’s chest tightened when he saw Crocodile bring his hand to cover his mouth and the look of amusement breaking through his usual tired character. “Oh. I’m getting drunk.”

“Yes, you are.” Crocodile looked over and raised his hand, catching the attention of a waiter. Rocinante picked up his sunglasses, his body warm and relaxed, only stiffening when he noticed Crocodile ordering a few things for the blond to snack on.

He waited for Crocodile to send the waiter off, and then, grabbing the tassels of his beanie, said: “Thanks.”

Crocodile blew smoke from his pursed lips, not looking the least bit affected by Rocinante’s comment. “It’s not a problem,” he remarked. “I’m not paying for anything here, remember?”

“I could’ve ordered,” Rocinante pointed out. Crocodile crossed his arms, looking away from the smiling blond. “But you ordered for me. I don’t have to pay then. I mean…you didn’t have to do that, but you did…”

Crocodile stared over to the window, his thin lips twisting at the ends when he caught a glimpse of something. Rocinante watched the man uncross his legs, bring a hand up to his mouth and remove his cigar, allowing his smirk to grow. It took some concentration, but Rocinante was able to focus his eyes on the clouded window, and noticed that there were no drops of rain being added to the collection pooling down the stained glass.

“No more rain,” the blond remarked. Which meant there was nothing keeping Crocodile inside, not unless he was afraid of getting mud on his shoes. “Guess that means you’re gonna leave?”

Crocodile broke away from the window, looking offended by Rocinante’s remark. “Finish your drink,” he ordered.

“What?” Rocinante asked. It was his first act of defiance towards Crocodile, and it wasn’t even intentional. Yet the blond was already regretting having said the word.

With the use of his cigar, Crocodile pointed at the blond’s drink. “This doesn’t go well with the food I ordered for you. No, I had to get something finer, something that would compliment your meal. And I despise clutter at the table, even at a place of this standard.”

Rocinante sat there, turning more dumbfounded with each additional word spoken by Crocodile. And the pirate continued to survey him, patiently waiting for the young man to oblige to his whim, the increasing sternness in his golden eyes being the only change in his appearance.

He took in the scene; face flushing the moment Rocinante comprehended the one catch that would keep the Shichibukai in place. Crocodile was not the normal kind of flirt, but it was obvious the man was trying to wine and dine him. And Rocinante wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit that it was working. He reached for his glass, his hazed eyes never leaving Crocodile’s, and he brought it up to his mouth, reminding himself he still had a mission to accomplish, and that he just so happened to be enjoying himself while doing it.

He downed the ale, feeling the spices and heat of the alcohol run smooth down his throat, leaving only a dry burn that was soothed with Crocodile’s enthusiastic words: “Good boy.”

* * *

 

_Finish your drink, Rocinante._

_Tell me your age, Rocinante._

_Don’t laugh while you eat; it ruins the appetite._

Somewhere between the second and third glass the dwindling, sober part of Rocinante’s mind informed him that Crocodile was giving out orders, not suggestions, and he was falling deeper into trouble, complying to every demand without providing just a bit of struggle.

_Take off your cap, Rocinante._

_Move closer._

_I want to run my hand through your hair, Rocinante._

_Don’t move._

He was drunk, and his hands were shaking under his weight as he leaned over the table, listening to Crocodile make a remark about blond hair while simultaneously rubbing his fingers against Rocinante’s scalp, fingers collecting and giving quick tugs at the root, testing the younger man’s complacency, and growing more entertained when Rocinante did nothing but turn a deeper shade of red.

Rocinante was sure his makeup was no longer the defining trait of his person, nor the unusual attire he donned, or his clumsiness. He wasn’t sure what to make of his personhood at the moment, but when Crocodile brought his hook over to the young man’s chin, lifting his head up just enough to further test Rocinante’s contentment in this unveiling game of master and slave, the blond felt nothing but relief. The cool metal against his hot skin was a welcoming sensation, and Crocodile’s slow breathing and gentle stare made the examination process less intimidating.

“Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into?”

Anyone could have said it. Crocodile, the waitress, the manager, any of the civilians watching Rocinante bend over backwards to please this man, only to slip forward and nearly hit his head against the table. Hell, Rocinante might have muttered it to himself, but just as his forehead was about to make contact with the wooden table, a hand roughly grabbed and pulled him back up, and Rocinante was reunited with those hungry golden eyes, eager to control and manipulate him like a puppet.

And the strings were tightening.

“I slipped,” the blond slurred.

“You did.” Crocodile carefully fixed the man into a standing position, making a few inaudible remarks as he struggled to keep a hold of Rocinante while also maneuvering out of his seat, around the table, and behind the blond. His grip remained form, ever changing, but always there, reminding Rocinante of his place.

“Thanks.” He cracked an uneven grin. “You’re not so bad, for a pirate.”

“Hmmm…”

Rocinante was turned around. The hand that gripped his shoulder slid down to his side, where it could better assure that there would be no future tumbles.

“Get your things,” Crocodile ordered. Rocinante did so without a moment’s hesitation, placing his beanie on and pulling it down till he felt the tassels stretch in his hands. The glasses were hung around the collar of his shirt. The feather coat barely made it over his shoulders. He let Crocodile continue to survey him, feeling proud of himself when the pirate nodded his head, approving of this less than graceful version of himself. “Lets go,” Crocodile said, letting go of Rocinante, assured that the blond would follow no matter how drunk he was.

He was right. Rocinante staggered behind, one hand reached out, trying to grab hold of the man’s coat that lazily hung on his shoulder. But Crocodile was always a few steps ahead, which, considering Rocinante needed the occasional help to keep balance was an impressive feat.

They left the pub and the marine was welcomed with the refreshing sensation of cool, moist air tickling his heated cheeks. The air wasn’t so stuffy, and his feather coat no longer as claustrophobic. He felt Crocodile grab him, a possible sign that the blond stopped to enjoy the weather, and he felt himself being tugged into the direction of the more populated part of town.

“What?” Rocinante blinked several times, his eyes having a difficult time readjusting to the light. He grabbed on to Crocodile’s shoulder, legs shaking and threatening to slip. “We-Where are we going?”

“There’s a nice hotel just a few blocks down,” Crocodile remarked, pushing Rocinante off of him. “It shouldn’t be more than a ten minute walk, assuming you can manage another step without falling over yourself.”

“No, no, no,” Rocinante said. He brought his arm over Crocodile’s shoulder to press a finger against the man’s lips. His mouth remained opened when he felt how soft they felt, and then remembered he was all over the Shichibukai, and that Crocodile’s entire being felt relatively soft and warm. He just left a hot pub, but right now those extra layers of silk and fur adorning Crocodile felt amazing and Rocinante just wanted to snatch it away….no, wait!

His brother! And Sengoku! He couldn’t forget about his mission to keep Crocodile away from Doflamingo.

“No, we-we can’t go to town.” Rocinante struggled with every word. “I can let you go…there, no, I can’t have that. That would be very bad.”

Crocodile grabbed his hand and yanked it away from his mouth. Rocinante suddenly stumbled forward, his body losing its grip when the body he was holding on to began to crumble. He fell about halfway before Crocodile grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back up.

“Experiencing a change of heart?” he asked.

Rocinante felt his legs being to shake. “No,” he answered. “It’s just…”

He was drunk. Rocinante was a detective, a great undercover agent, and a damn fine marine, and he knew if he was sober he would’ve come up with an elaborate excuse as to why going further into town was a bad idea. But he was drunk, and all he could think about was Doflamingo and his stupid crew, those horrible people and the way they manipulated children, and his brother planning to take over an entire country. And Doflamingo wanted to talk with Crocodile, and Sengoku didn’t want that to happen, and neither did Rocinante, but he wasn’t too sure why at this point, even with Crocodile’s frightening eyes trying to force him to comply.

“I don’t want my b-brother to see you,” he answered. Whatever sobriety remaining in Rocinante’s mind screamed as words continued to flow out of his mouth, disregarding any sort of consequences that might follow. “I can’t have him spot you, otherwise that m-might be a problem. You can’t talk to him. I need to keep you away…ok?”

Crocodile raised a brow at him. “Brother?”

Rocinante’s jaw remained unhinged. He was beginning to understand what he said to the man. The jig was up, but he was too drunk to be upset over the matter. So he shrugged at Crocodile, and were it not for those annoying tassels getting in his face, might have taking the time to nod his head or even give a vocal reply. Instead he blew air at them, hoping the weak current would push them away.

“Ku-haha…”

Rocinante blinked. “What?”

“Kuhaha!” Rocinante fell to the floor; Crocodile letting go of him in order to hold on to himself. The blond readjusted himself, fixing his coat back into place, and grabbing his sunglasses from his leg, placing them over his face after a few tries. He lifted his head and saw Crocodile grinning down at him. The shades made it hard to tell what sort of smile it was, but Rocinante was relieved when Crocodile leaned forward, hand reaching out to him, that smile not faltering one bit when Rocinante grabbed it with his wet hand.

He was pulled up, and this time Rocinante felt a jolt of excitement run up his spine when a arm, Crocodile’s arm, wrapped itself around his back, the base of his hook pressed firm against him.

“I understand.” Crocodile snickered some more, but his hold kept Rocinante feeling strangely comforted. “Yes, I figured someone like you couldn’t possibly be traveling alone. This makes sense.”

“W-what?”

This time Crocodile pressed his finger against Rocinante’s mouth. “My ship is just south of here. It’s hidden well, not that it matters. I seriously doubt your brother will have reason to go so far beyond the town’s limits.”

The blond’s eyes widened. Crocodile’s finger was warm, and though it wasn’t pressed nearly as hard as Rocinante’s had been to Crocodile, it felt him feeling weak and incapable of parting his lips.

“You can rest assure your…integrity will remain intact,” Crocodile continued, voice falling a pitch and leaving Rocinante little choice but to hold on to the domineering Shichibukai. Crocodile lifted his finger from Rocinante’s lips, the dark lipstick somehow not staining the man’s skin. Had he really been that delicate all along? “Now, Rocinante,” Crocodile began, “without further making a fool of yourself, follow my lead and I’ll show you just what sort of trouble you committed yourself to…”

Rocinante’s jaw finally began to drop. 

“I require a definitive answer, Rocinante.”

Hearing his name caused him to shiver. Why, oh why, did Crocodile keep saying his name?

“Yes,” he answered.

“Yes?” Crocodile chuckled. Rocinante could feel the heat from the hook begin to earth its way through his coat. “Yes _what_?”

Wasn’t this supposed to be a mission to keep Crocodile away from his brother? Rocinante's job was to get Crocodile out of town, not to sleep with him. Yes, alcohol was involved, but how much of it could Rocinante place the blame on? At what point did the spying marine become prey to the pirate? 

Rocinante nervously grinned at Crocodile, that domineering hold on him pushing him further into a primordial corner. “Yes, _Sir Crocodile_.”


	3. Chapter 3

The ship was barren. It was all Rocinante could recall regarding the details of Sir Crocodile’s ship. He’d been worried about getting caught, someone spotting him being dragged into the captain’s quarters, but he didn’t catch the look of one crew member guarding the deck, or hear any snide remarks from way up high in the crow’s nest. He might have said something, had he the time to let his mind linger on the subject for a second longer. Crocodile’s hand gripped his, the man having grown tired waiting for Rocinante to stumble after him, resorting to clinging to the blond and directing him to the room where Rocinante would distract him for however long he could provide entertainment.

He was pulled into a dark room adorned with the usual belongings that he grew to familiarize with after spending some time in his brother’s room. In between furniture and tables covered with personal articles were the charts, maps, and weapons, the latter seeming to collect over the majority of the walls in some form or another.

The room lacked the bountiful color variation and was nowhere near as messy as Doflamingo’s, giving Rocinante some grief when he was hit with that overbearing sense of authoritativeness. The windows were closed, and the curtains covered any natural source of light. Rocinante looked around the room, surveying the knives, swords and guns that all appeared to be pointing at him, the locked window and lack of light, coupled with the growing heat all around him, inside of his, resulting in the struggling, dwindle sober part of his mind to scream out: “I’m trapped.”

He was drunk and having a difficult time trying to keep himself up straight, he certainly didn’t need to be reminded he was about to be the plaything of a Shichibukai.

The hand pulled him away from the center of the room. “Get over here.”

Rocinante’s legs obeyed, mind still spinning and trying to make some sense of what he was about to do. Do. Do it. And with a pirate. No, he was going to do it with a government-sanctioned pirate. A pirate who’s crimes were forever pardoned, so long as he offered a minimal sum, and showed up to a few meetings. That was worse than a regular pirate.

A cruel voice whispered: “What are you thinking about?”

Rocinante could feel the frame of the bed against the back of his legs. He stared down at two predatory eyes waiting for the right moment to strike

“You,” he answered.

Crocodile flashed an unnerving grin. “Good, I like that.”

“Really?” Rocinante wanted to pander to the comment. Or perhaps he sought for Crocodile to peel away at his fragile layers, for him to say that one word, or perform that final touch that would bring his legs crumbling, allowing the hand to push him into hell, the hook to elevate him from it.

“Of course,” Crocodile answered. He stretched his arm up, letting the back of his hand rest against Rocinante’s cheek. The blond shivered, feeling cool gemstone rest against his hot skin, Crocodile placing just enough pressure against Rocinante to spark a reaction. “I require your complete, undivided attention.”

Fingers curled into the palm, replacing cold rings with warm knuckles. Rocinante stared through the corner of his eyes, hoping to catch the hand sliding down his face, leaving a silent, subtle reminder of their presence. “Uh-huh.”

“I need you to look me in the eye…” Rocinante blinked, his attention returning to Crocodile, who grinned, letting his other arm wrap around Rocinante’s frame. “…And submit,” he continued, voice dropping at the very word. There was something incredibly casual about his demand, as though it were a mere suggestion. But Crocodile had Rocinante right where he wanted him, between a hand that pulled the trigger on honest men, and the golden hook that disemboweled innocent lives. There was no need to sound like a captain giving orders anymore, not when he’d already successfully taken his plunder to the bedroom.

There was a great deal of weight pressed against Rocinante, pushing his back against the curve of Crocodile’s hook. He stared at the pirate, his lips pressed together, the hook against his pink top feeling more like a threat as Crocodile continued to stare at him, already planning out every move. And it excited him.

“I think I can do that,” Rocinante managed to say without too much slurring of the tongue.

Crocodile’s thumb rose up, again finding its place on top of Rocinante’s bottom lip. This time the blond could detect a change in the man’s strength, the thumb pressed against his lips, rubbing it from side to side, a gentle, but noticeable massage that was surely smearing lipstick. “I need confirmation, Rocinante.”

That should have been a warning to flee the scene. Any sort comment requesting validation…

Crocodile removed his thumb from the blond, exposing a purple print staining the base. It was the first time Rocinante detected an imperfection on the man, and it was quickly removed from sight as Crocodile brought it to his own lips, taking it into his mouth while continuing to break down the blond with his persistent stare.

Rocinante’s legs shook. He was unbearably warm, and his tight jeans were now sticking against skin, minus one pitched-up area.

“Sure,” he said, feeling his teeth bite down against his shame-ridden grin. He saw Crocodile‘s brows lift up, no doubt amused by the failed attempt to appear somewhat dignified in his willing submission to the pirate. He saw the thumb escape from between Crocodile’s lips, catching a glimpse of purple laced across a thin tongue.

“Sure, _what_?” Crocodile asked.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” Rocinante winced at his own desperate voice. The sensation of his erection rubbing against undergarments temporarily brought him out of the sad realization that he’d even spoken the words. Crocodile snatching Rocinante by the chin and pulling him down, pressing his lips against the other’s provided a momentary stay against the humiliation, replacing it with a brief second of pleasure and comfort.

The gentle kiss didn’t last long enough. Right away Rocinante’s lip was freed from his teeth, only to be pulled into Crocodile’s. He whimpered in-between breaths, feeling light nips against his bottom lip, the shifting hook forcing him to accept his reward. Rocinante’s eyes lidded as the heat continued to grow, the room spinning, his head growing lighter and filling up with nonsense as he fed Crocodile his moans and succumbed to incisors wearing away his integrity.

This rough kiss didn’t last long either. Crocodile broke the kiss, removing himself from Rocinante, taking the thumb from the chin, snapping trails of saliva with a turn of the head, and the hook from Rocinante’s back. Without the leaning support, there was nothing stopping the clumsy marine from stumbling back, landing on top of the bed with a rough bounce.

He brought a sleeve to his face, gently patting away any excess saliva from around mouth, while his other hand tried to readjust the position of his cap. A hand swatted his away, yanking the cap by the tassels and tossing it across the room. Rocinante huffed, catching the sight of it flying into the air, subjected to the same fate as his feather coat. He looked up at Crocodile, expressing some hurt at lack of sympathy towards his favorite article of clothing. The pirate leered down, purple stained grin consuming the rest of Rocinante’s confidence, silently reminding the blond of his enthusiastic consent, earning another pained blush from the younger man.

Finally, Rocinante turned away, the sight of his lipstick smeared across Crocodile’s lips too much to handle, and brought his shaky hands to the first of many buttons.

Crocodile laughed above him, calling him a “good boy,” a “ _very_ good boy” when Rocinante slowed down around the stomach region, a “ _young man_ ,” when he exposed himself, allowing Crocodile to lean down and press his hand against discolored scars, silently observing Rocinante’s reaction as he let fingers hover over larger blemishes. Eyelashes fluttered over thin, white lines, lips parting over thicker markings, golden eyes finally returning to reality at the sight of fine blond hairs surrounding the bellybutton, reminding Sir Crocodile of the reason he brought the man to his quarters.

The hook gestured to Rocinante’s zipper. “Off,” he ordered, bringing his hand down to his own trousers.

Rocinante obliged without a word, his stare resting on the one hand that struggled to undo the button, not yet accustomed to working quickly without some aid. He eagerly kicked off his shoes, nearly tumbling back as he slid out of his jeans. All the meanwhile Crocodile continued to stare, observe his every move, and take delight in how fast Rocinante stripped down, leaving on only the unbuttoned shirt and tented boxer-briefs.

Crocodile remained fully clothed, taking his time to undo a button from his top and free his ascot from his neck. This one article was carefully tossed over to a nearby drawer. Rocinante could assume that his few remaining articles would not be given similar treatment. The older man stared at his rings, determining them not worth the effort, leaving them on and reaching down to grab Rocinante’s undergarments, stopping just as the tip of his middle finger reached the band.

“What?” Rocinante muttered, blurred vision on the halted appendage.

Crocodile removed his hand, raising his head up just enough to lay another hard stare at the blond. “Turn around.” He let the words sink in, catching the disbelief in the blond’s eyes before adding, “on your stomach.”

Rocinante brought his hands up to cover his face. His fingers obscured his vision, but he knew the man’s expression was unwavering, and that every second he wasted on his back would only make things worse later. He bit his tongue, lowered his hands and stared up at Crocodile, admiring his patience, or perhaps his ability to predict his upcoming move. He flipped himself over, resting on his stomach, sliding down until his legs touched the hardwood flooring.

Vision limited to the sight of sheets, pillows and bedpost, Rocinante held in whimper once he felt the hand grab the elastic band and give a yank.

“Don’t do that,” he heard Crocodile warn.

Rocinante buried his head into the bed covers, letting his nose rub against the fabric while mouthing out a few words, feeling his undergarments slide off his rear end. He felt the tip of the hook poke the side of his leg. He lifted his head, the cold sensation causing every hair on his body to rise up. Crocodile chuckled. Rocinante sniffed, blinking and staring at the bedpost, wondering just how far the man would go to humiliate and test his willingness.

“Spread your legs.”

Rocinante obeyed, biting his tongue and doing his best not to imagine how demeaning this was. His face was starting to hurt with how hot it was, cheeks burning as though he’d been out under the sun too long. Crocodile continued to snicker above him, teasing Rocinante’s lower back and buttocks with all too quick touches and pokes from the hook.

Caught between a sigh and a moan, Rocinante rubbed is face into the covers.

“What’s that?” Crocodile made no effort to hide his pleasure.  
Rocinante lifted his head up enough so the pirate could make out his every word. “Please,” he started, feeling his face hurt with frowning so much. “No more…”

“Grown tired of teasing?” Crocodile’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

Rocinante nodded his head.

“Well.” It would be impossible to feign disappointment anymore than what Crocodile currently was. Rocinante still felt overwhelmed despite it. “What do you suggest I do then, if teasing is no longer an option?”

He knew what the man was asking of him: Crocodile wanted to hear him beg to get fucked, used up like a toy, a dirty little plaything. Rocinante understood it. He was embarrassed as all hell to know it too. But he was drunk, hot, his erection was pressed between his sweating stomach and Crocodile’s too soft covers, and he was just one wrong rub from the hook away from humping the bed.

“Well,” he slurred. “You can start by not poking me with your hook.” He turned his head, looked over his shoulder and grinned at the pirate. “And maybe consider poking me with something else?”

Did he really just say that? The look on Crocodile’s face suggested he had. Rocinante clenched his teeth together, forcing the smile surrounded by smeared lipstick on his face, watching Crocodile’s cheeks rise up and return a grin. Teeth bared, parting, and finally letting out a laugh, Crocodile broke away from Rocinante, walking over to a drawer, swinging his hook and shaking his head all the meanwhile.

“You’re a strange one,” he muttered, voice filled with amusement.

“Is that a good thing?”

He felt the heat of Crocodile’s presence behind him. Rocinante buried is head back into the sheets, listening to Crocodile maneuver something in his hands, popping open the top before nudging Rocinante to part his legs further with his hook.

“Fortunately for me, I’ve a weakness for that cocky attitude,” Crocodile replied. Rocinante yelped when he felt liquid splash on his rear, running down the crack and going further and further, until Crocodile placed the bottle on the bed and stopped the lubricant from pouring down the leg. “Though, it might be unfortunate for someone as inexperienced as you.”

Rocinante wanted to retort and prove Crocodile wrong, but the sensation of fingers drenched in oily liquid seizing his inner leg, pulling him further from the bed, and freeing his erection from the covers, only to have it grabbed and squeezed, rubbed from base to head, resulting in a pathetic, exasperated moan; ceased any further argument.

  
“I’m going to use you.” Crocodile’s words rang like the cruelest of threats. Lubricated fingers traced across his testes, stopping at Rocinante’s anus. There, the thumb circled around, coaxing the muscles to relax, for Rocinante to shutter underneath Crocodile as he progressed, pushing a wet finger into the opening. “I’m going to make sure you give me quite a show.”

  
Feeling sweat beginning to collect, Rocinante slid an arm over to his face, closing his eyes awhile letting a dirty smile break. A second finger intruded, rubbing and massaging, nearly causing Rocinante to forget those foreboding words. “I hope I don’t disappoint,” he commented. Despite half his face covered, all he could hear was the eagerness of his own voice.

  
“Ah,” Crocodile said, “there is none.”

He moved closer, and the fingers dug deeper, only hesitating once the rings came close to finding their way inside of the blond. Fingers curled inside of Rocinante. He pressed his lips together, feeling his teeth and jaws shake and struggle to keep his mouth shut. “Hmm?”

  
“Hope.” Crocodile removed his fingers from Rocinante. The blond winced, feeling the tip of Crocodile’s erection replace them, already pressed against this tightening opening. “For you, Rocinante.”

  
Rocinante stared at the bed sheets. His shirt clung to his back, sweat causing it to stick to him, and more developing across his body as Crocodile lowered. Pants rubbed against his bare legs, pushing forward. There was an instantaneous buildup of pressure, behind him, followed by that dull, hot pain of being broken into, Crocodile’s cock penetrating and making its way deep inside, not stopping until Rocinante could feel himself stretching to accommodate the base.

  
Rocinante bent his back, burying his face into the covers, barely muffling the sounds of his pants and whimpers. Crocodile continued to readjust himself, hand grabbing the blond by the hip, the hook lying on top of Rocinante’s shivering back. Crocodile’s hand squeezed him, forcing Rocinante to raise his head up and endure the sounds of his loud moans.

  
“Looks like you’ve nothing to worry about,” Crocodile grunted. “I’m already quite amused.”

  
The weight of the hook shifted as Crocodile began to move, starting off slow with the first few thrusts. This didn’t stop Rocinante from focusing on every move Crocodile performed. Face buried into sheets, his mind created vivid images of Crocodile working his way back inside of him, the feel of the head rubbing and prodding, the shaft around tightening muscles, the base forcing Rocinante to comply and relax.

  
“Don’t close your legs,” Crocodile warned.

  
Rocinante clung to the sheets, teeth grinding when he felt Crocodile’s pace quicken. The dull pain of being penetrated was replaced with a numbing heat, lubricated friction turning the intrusive feeling into a rough, warm massage. The one hand held tight to Rocinante’s buttocks, determined to keep him in place as the rhythm turned rougher and less forgiving. Rocinante jerked underneath, his legs pressing against the bed, or kicking up whenever he felt Crocodile get down to the base. His body lurched forward with each thrust, shoulders scrunching up, body going on the defense despite Crocodile’s previous warning. The pain he felt was drowned out by the growing heat coiling in his lower stomach, pooling and burning between his legs, and dripping out of the tip of his erection.

  
Crocodile gave another hard thrust, sending an intense rush of pleasure up the blond’s back. Rocinante smacked his legs together, the feeling so good and unprepared for that he could not retain letting his head rise up from a series of wonderful contractions, mouth parting and letting out a sharp, but relieved sigh. He was glad he was on his stomach and didn’t have to deal with the taunting laugh above. The wet sounds of Crocodile smacking against him, and the feel of the man all over and inside his sensitive body was beginning to wear on him; heating him, covering him in a fit random shivers and twitches. He was barely able to hold on to the bed sheets and cover his mouth, muffling his whimpers and moans.

  
The hook removed itself from Rocinante’s back. “Is that all?” Crocodile asked, pulling Rocinante further away from the bed. Feeling his neglected erection hang in the air, Rocinante bit his lower lip, withholding a whine in order to refrain making a bigger fool of himself. “Don’t be like that,” Crocodile persisted, slowing down his pace to gain better control of his movement inside of the younger man.

  
Rocinante jerked and shook as Crocodile pushed all the way in, hitting a few delicate nerves along the way, resulting in Rocinante’s erection to stiffen up more, resulting in a bigger mess on the wooden floor. He brought more wrinkled sheets to his mouth, no longer caring if any remaining makeup smeared the sheets. Legs spread and ass up, there wasn’t much dignity left for Rocinante to hold on to. He didn’t want to scream out just yet.

  
“Let it out.” Crocodile pulled out of him the slow movement tormenting Rocinante. Muscles contracted and relaxed around Crocodile’s erection. The blond could feel how close the man was to finishing inside of him. “Show me how much you’re enjoying this,” Crocodile demanded.

  
Even with the help of alcohol blurring his thoughts, Rocinante found it difficult to obey. Crocodile pushed forward, his hand reaching around and massaging the base and shaft of Rocinante’s penis. The overstimulation was impossible to ignore; Rocinante uttered a moan, clinging on to the edge of the bed as his hips began to jerk in tandem to Crocodile’s.

  
Apparently this wasn’t good enough. Crocodile’s increased his grip on Rocinante’s shaft, earning a sharp hiss from said man. “Rocinante,” Crocodile growled, his thumb pressed firmly against his frenulum. “I told you to let it out,” he continued, maneuvering the pressure his hand relinquished from shaft to frenulum, earning a mixture of pleasure and pain related whimpers. “That’s an order.”

  
His grasp on the shaft eased, and Rocinante was welcomed with finger and thumb rubbing the base of the head of his penis. No longer wiling to risk upsetting the pirate anymore, Rocinante took the gracious offering and relaxed himself as best he could, relinquishing any further thought and letting his mind focus on the way Crocodile’s fingers teased his cock, rubbing the sensitive spots and sending warm chills up his spine. Crocodile’s hand took Rocinante’s penis by the shaft, fingers applying generous pressure as he jerked Rocinante off, this time the blond letting out whatever from this throat, no matter how ludicrous or needy it sounded.

  
“Very good.” Crocodile chuckled, taking in the sounds of Rocinante’s defeat. “Now, hold on to the bed.”

  
“Uh-huh,” Rocinante muttered. The hook wrapped around his leg as best as it could. The hand continued to gently rub his balls, the ache causing Rocinante to tremble and heave, ready to finish right on Crocodile’s bed.

  
“You’re so easy to please.” Rocinante no longer cared about the snide remarks. There was nothing holding him down but his own willingness to please. He clung to the sheets, biting his lip and fighting a smirk when Crocodile resumed fucking him. The moan and yelps made the rough sex all the more rougher; Crocodile responding to each cry with harder assaults, his own hand shaking to keep pleasuring Rocinante’s erection.

  
Rocinante’s legs spread further, and his toes began to curl. His elbows could no longer support his weight, slipping and caving under a shaking form. Rocinante clenched the covers and closed his wetted eyes, feeling cold sweat run down his shoulders and between his legs. Crocodile’s hand tugged forward, meeting with the head of Rocinante’s penis, covering and squeezing it, frantically rubbing the tip and causing Rocinante collapse into the bed, heaving and crying out as he came into the man’s hand.

  
Rocinante’s mind temporarily slipped from reality as a wave of delight ran up his penis, releasing all the trapped heated from his stomach and sending it out in the form of powerful contractions. The back of one leg rubbed against Crocodile’s, the other stiffening and lurching forward, standing on toes as Rocinante ejaculated. The blond sank, Crocodile’s arms keeping some of the burden of standing, gasping at how vulgar his moans were and wishing he’d better control of his powers.

  
“You’re so loud,” Crocodile huffed, continuing to jerk and lubricate Rocinante’s twitching cock with his own semen. He took advantage of contracting muscles and persisted with shallow thrusts, listening to weakened cries until Rocinante started to go soft. With his hand now available, Crocodile grabbed hold of Rocinante and made quick work of him, gong back to a fast, merciless pace, switching between pants and chuckles each time Rocinante whimpered or sighed underneath.

  
Crocodile lowered. “You’re so loud,” he repeated. Rocinante could detect the sly grin panting out each word, audible between his lurid cries. “Impossibly loud,” the man cackled, fingers curling into Rocinante’s inner thigh. “ _You’re just like your brother._ ”

  
A wave of horror struck Rocinante. He lifted his head, about to look over his shoulder to figure out if those terrible words had actually been said, but had to bring a hand to cover his mouth when he felt Crocodile’s nails dig into his side, the hook close to doing the same, almost to the point where the endorphins mattered little and all Rocinante could focus on was the stinging pain.

  
Crocodile let out an exasperated sigh, fingers unclenching at his release. Rocinante’s toes curled up again as semen was shot out, the warm metal of the hook going down his arm as Crocodile relaxed on top of him. Rocinante stared at the bedpost, blinking madly as the warm fabric of his shirt pressed against him. Crocodile readjusting his breath right above him was oddly calming. Rocinante was near naked, the man on top fully clothed minus a fancy ascot. He was covered in cold sweat, but Crocodile felt oddly dry, unaffected by recent events.

  
Just as Crocodile had predicted, Rocinante was used up, toyed by a man who clearly showed an interest in feather-donning blonds. And Rocinante could give no defense. He’d been played with all afternoon, providing Crocodile the show he said he’d give him and up until this very moment, enjoyed every second of it. Even now, after hearing the pirate’s disturbing confession, Rocinante focused on the way Crocodile’s arm clung to him, keeping them fixed in place until he was ready for it to end. He was still being played, and as messed up as it might be, he almost wanted to pretend nothing was said, and let Crocodile finish whenever he was ready.

  
Those god-awful words echoed in Rocinante’s mind, repeating over and over, did nothing to stop him from turning his head and letting out another long sigh.

* * *

   
Rocinante sat on the bed, holding on to his wrinkled cap, listening to Crocodile scribble something down on his desk. Other than the occasional creak brought by the currents, there were hardly any sounds to distract Rocinante from the developing fear in his stomach. He looked up from the floor and stared at Crocodile, summoned up the courage and asked: “When did you figure out who I was?”

  
“That fierce, determined look you threw at me.” Crocodile continued to stare the letter he was writing, not giving the blond the time or comfort needed to let him know things were being taken seriously. He dropped his quill into the inkbottle, lifting his eyes up for only a moment to show off just how pleased he was with Rocinante’s discomfort. “The same look your brother gives when he’s been denied my attention for too long.”  
“Look, he can’t-”

  
“Don’t assume me a fool, Rocinante.” Crocodile stood up from his desk and walked over to Rocinante. “I know better than to alert my rival that I’ve taken his younger sibling into bed.”

  
“Well, about that…” Rocinante covered his head. He paid attention to Crocodile’s slow, arduous steps, growing more worried when he thought about the relationship his brother and the Shichibukai might possess. More importantly, the relationship he and Crocodile now established, and how it would get in the way of the government’s plans to stop his older brother. “You see there’s something else I need to ask of you.”  
Crocodile brought his hook under the blond’s chin, raising Rocinante’s head up, staring down at him with and exceptionally cruel grin. “What sort of secrets are you keeping from your brother?”

  
“Enough.” Rocinante felt the hook curve under his chin, the pointed tip now resting against his skin. He swallowed, not breaking away from the older pirate, determined to get his message across. “He can’t know I’m capable of speech.”

  
Crocodile moved away from Rocinante, taking the hook with him. “Understandable,” he began, “I’ve no intention of causing any ill will between your brother and I.” He turned to the desk, folding the letter and offering it Rocinante. “I don’t want to lose this wonderful ranking I’ve recently been appointed just because I’ve pissed off some reckless fool of a pirate.”

  
Rocinante stared at folded parchment in the pirate’s hand. There was an instinctual urge to hurry up from the bed and take it. The sobering part of his brain warned him to remain where he was. The marine in him begged him to remember his place. “How can I trust you?” he asked.

Crocodile lowered his arm. Rocinante expected him to get upset, but instead he witnessed the older man flash another approving glance at him. “You can’t, nor should you. I’ve earned my title as Shichibukai for a reason.”

He reproached Rocinante, this time pushing the letter to the young man. Rocinante stared at it, then back at Crocodile. He snatched it, his grip causing the folded sheet to give under the pressure and crumble.

Crocodile laughed, shaking his head while walking over to the other side of the room, picking up the black feather coat. “Yes, Rocinante, keep sending me that look. Keep reminding me of my weakness to your kind, that’ll certainly help you leave this ship in one piece, won’t it?”

Was it the marine that suddenly found the man’s laughter irritating? Was it his gathering sobriety that informed him that he’d been used, and was it the act of still being used that made him so upset? Rocinante feared it was neither, and the unsettling feeling growing inside of him was a result of something else.

Something soft brushed against his face. Rocinante looked up at the feather coat being handed to him, and the less than enthusiastic Crocodile holding on to it.

“I’ll be casting off soon. I’ve had my fill of this island’s pleasures, and I’ve not forgotten that you can’t be caught with me around. Seeing how blatant you are with your expressions, I figure I’ll sail a few miles down the coast, give you enough time to rest and gather your thoughts, before dropping you off.”

Crocodile pushed to coat into Rocinante’s hands. Even with the cap sliding down his head, Rocinante caught the way Crocodile’s fingers curled and rubbed between the feathers, even as he dropped the massive coat into his lap.

Letter in one hand, coat now dangling off his legs, Rocinante watched as Crocodile found new ways to keep close, while still appearing as though he cared little for whatever was to come.

“You won’t be caught,” Crocodile assured him. “Whatever Doflamingo’s suggested to you, let it be known that I only allow him to catch a glimpse of me because I’m bored enough to desire his company.”

Rocinante stared at the crossed arms, the giant hook, at the lazy way Crocodile gestured with his hand. He saw the tired, bored look all over the man’s face. There was nothing keeping him obliged to care about the younger Donquixote brother.

“What is it now, Rocinante?”

He realized he was staring angrily at Crocodile.

“Why are you doing all this?” he asked. “I get that you’re a pirate and you do horrible things, but you knew I who I was…”

What was he angry at? Was he frustrated at Crocodile for using him and his brother, his brother for having been there first, or his own stupidity?

Crocodile walked over to the coat hanger resting by the door. He went through one of the pockets of his fur coat, pulling out a cigar from within, then the lighter, placing each between his fingers before heading back to Rocinante.

“The oceans are a dangerous place,” he muttered, stowing the cigar between his lips. “Even with your brother’s help I’m shocked you’ve made it this far.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There are opportunities to take, many of them coming once in a man’s lifetime.” Crocodile stopped in front of him and knelt down. Tired as he was, the sight of Crocodile on his knees, staring up at him, hand offering Rocinante the lighter, was admittedly pleasing to behold. And seeing that he’d already played into the pirate’s hand several times before, Rocinante figured it wouldn’t hurt to humor Crocodile a bit longer. He took the lighter and brought it to the cigar, lighting up the end, watching Crocodile grow more relaxed as he breathed in.

Rocinante waited for Crocodile to stand back up, leaving the lighter in his hand.

“You are a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Crocodile continued. “That determined look in your eyes begged to be broken.” He took his cigar and expelled a long trail of smoke. “But your time in these oceans is limited. There’s far too much hope in those eyes, and not nearly enough experience. This sea will break you, swallow you whole.”

Rocinante felt sweat collect under his cap. He cupped his hands together, pretending to not feel the least bit ruffled by Crocodile’s strange foreboding words.

“I wanted to take advantage of you before that happens,” Crocodile cackled. He took another long inhale from his cigar, letting the end burn bright red. “You turning out to be Doflamingo’s relative mattered very little.”

Rocinante stared down at the letter. It lacked an envelope or a seal, yet something about it felt so official. “I take it this is for Doflamingo?”

“Read it if you like. I could care less,” he heard Crocodile remark. “Just a few sentences remarking my intent to sail west from this island, and that it’ll be up to him to decide whether I’m worth the effort.”

“You’re leading my brother straight to you?”

Crocodile flicked the end of his cigar into a nearby ashtray. “I’m leading him in the opposite direction. I’ve had my fill of blonds, and I‘d rather not have to deal with his annoying behavior anytime soon.” He stopped, letting his hand grasping the cigar linger a few inches away from his mouth. “However, if you feel the topic is pertinent, you can direct him to me. You know which direction I plan to take, Rocinante.”

Rocinante grabbed the feather coat and threw it over his shoulders. He avoided looking at Crocodile, listening to the soft chuckle as he stood up, shoving the note deep into his pocket.

“I think west works,” he commented. He brought a hand to his face, detecting the rising heat. He was almost as warm as he’d been drunk.

“It makes little difference to me,” Crocodile remarked. He turned to the door; his body language lax compared to what it had been a few hours prior. Rocinante guessed it was time for him to leave the captain’s quarters, but as he was about to pass the pirate, the hook was raised, stopping him from going any further.

“What?” Rocinante asked.

Crocodile rolled his cigar between his fingers. “When you’ve grown tired following your idiotic brother’s dream, assuming you’re still alive by then…”

Rocinante smirked. “You’re still at that?”

“Don’t interrupt,” Crocodile warned. He turned, facing Rocinante, and raised his hand up, offering the cigar to the younger man. “Assuming you haven’t gotten yourself killed, give me a call.” Rocinante lips parted just enough for Crocodile to place it between the man’s lips, withdrawing his hand quick enough to force the blond to accept the sudden gift. “I enjoyed toying with you, and you don’t seem to mind being lead around, at least with the right kind of coaxing.”

Nothing could stop Rocinante from bringing his hands to his face. Not even the cigar. It burned into the palm of his hand. He nearly yelped out, but stopped so he could avoid dropping it and potentially insult Crocodile. He frantically waved his hand in the air while Crocodile watched, looking more amazed by Rocinante’s determination to never disappoint.

“Interesting,” the pirate remarked. Rocinante held in a tear as he tried to hide his blush, letting Crocodile carefully readjust the feather coat, feeling his hand roughly work it back into place. He felt a hand reach all the way to his head, fixing the cap back into place. “You certainly give your brother a run for his money. You’re a damn moving klutz.”

Rocinante sighed. “I know.”

“An accident waiting to happen,” he heard Crocodile add as he brought his hand back to the cigar, twirling it between the blond’s lips and earning another shiver. “I should despise you. But for reasons I cannot explain, I’m fascinated by the idea of having you over again. In another setting, without your brother’s influence to get in the way.”

There was no smile, nor the slightest hint of caring in his voice.

Rocinante looked down, feeling his legs grow weak all over again. What was it about this man, or was there something wrong with him and his brother that the two of them were doomed to be enamored by the mere thought of being under his control?

“Don’t waste that cigar,” Crocodile warned. “It’s worth far more than anything you’ll ever come to possess.”

Rocinante closed his lips together, nodding his head and taking in a too deep breath of fine smoke. He felt his eyes burn at burning fumes, richer and heavier than what he was accustomed to, but kept from blinking.

Crocodile was grinning at him.

“Very good,” he muttered, walking towards the door. The hook was lifted up, gesturing towards the shaking blond, still huffing away at the cigar that left his throat itchy and eyes drenched in hanging tears. “I’ll be casting off now,” Crocodile announced, hand turning on the knob. “You can jump ship now, and make your way back into town, perhaps give yourself an opportunity to come up with an excuse to your sudden increase of temperature. You’ll have plenty of time.”

Rocinante stared at the hand grasping the knob. “Or…?”

He caught the sight of Crocodile’s tongue being bitten by two sharp incisors. “My offer still stands,” he replied. “I can maneuver my ship around the coast, and drop you off midway.”

Mission accomplished. He successfully kept the two pirates from meeting. All he had to do now was get back on his brother’s ship before it got too late, and continue spying and hopefully defer Doflamingo’s progress.

How he planned on he getting back on board was up to him.

“And how long will that take?” Rocinante asked, already going lightheaded at the audible sound of his voice cracking under self-imposed pressure. He caught Crocodile’s casting a strange look his way. Rocinante brought his hand to the cigar, keeping it safely tucked between his fingers. “If I decide to remain on this ship?” he added, this time without any hesitation. His pursed his lips and exhales a thin trail of smoke in Crocodile’s direction. “How long do you think it’ll take for…”

Crocodile’s hand let go of the doorknob. Rocinante lowered his head, looking away as he relaxed his arm, letting it drop to the side. He stared at the wood flooring, listening in torment to Crocodile’s slow footsteps returning back to him.

“As long as you need to collect your thoughts, Rocinante,” Crocodile chuckled, needy fingers already clenching around his heart-shaped tassel, the sharp hook pressed against his back.


End file.
